


bow to her

by cynical_optimist



Series: basically the princess bride [3]
Category: Lovely Little Losers, Nothing Much to Do
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Claudio is a terrible person, F/F, Hero is sad, Hero thinks about lost love and brothers and ruling kingdoms and cries, Princess Bride AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4881637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynical_optimist/pseuds/cynical_optimist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I would like to return to my chambers," she repeats. "It was rather warm outside, and my head is heavy."</p><p>Claudio nods ever so graciously, fingers loosening. "I look forward to our wedding, my dear," he calls as she walks away from him. "Do remember who it was that proposed it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	bow to her

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I'll write fluff soon. As this is not that in the slightest, I hope you enjoy it! x
> 
> (this work is part of a non-chronological series. reading of any of the other installments is not mandatory but is recommended.)

_“Your true love lives! And you marry another. True Love saved her in the fire swamp, and she treated it like garbage. And that's what she is, the Queen of Refuse. So bow down to her if you want, bow to her. Bow to the Queen of Slime, the Queen of Filth, the Queen of Putrescence. Boo! Boo! Rubbish! Filth! Slime! Muck! Boo! Boo! Boo!”_

_\- The Princess Bride, 1987_

  
  
  


Princess Hero stands on the balcony next to her fiance and tries not to feel. Her crown is heavy on her head, and the jewels on her dress feel as if they are dragging her down, keeping her ensnared. She is trapped and she hates it more than anything in the world.

 

“People of Florin,” Claudio announces to the crowd below. “On this joyful day, I bring you the announcement of my imminent marriage. You all know the lovely bride, and she stands before you today-- your own princess, Hero.”

 

She steps forward, eyes fixed on the far horizon, and hears the murmuring from the crowd. There is a name rolling through the people, whispered or murmured, but never shouted. It rises to her ears, begging, pleading for her to take notice, to speak, to protest. Her soul cries out with them, the words rising in her throat. Hero wants to let them pour from her lips.

 

She does not.

 

Claudio steps forward again and continues in his diatribe. A part of her, deep inside and buried under layers of pain and sorrow and royal duty, rages against his address of her kingdom. The fury burns with longing for her brother, the rightful king, but it has nowhere to go. It fades again, and all she can feel is emptiness. The rest of the ceremony blurs past her. Hero performs her part, stepping forward and smiling and waving at all the right moments, but her heart is far away. It has been for a very long time. She steps back inside with Claudio’s men by her side, and he grins triumphantly.

 

“Looking forward to our marriage, my sweet?” he asks, taking her hand gently.

 

Hero looks away. “I wish to return to my chambers, now.” Her throat aches and her eyes burn and her skin crawls every time he looks at her.

 

Claudio rolls his eyes. His fingers slip from her hand her wrist, grip painfully tight. "If that is your wish, dearest,” he sighs, voice still sweet as honey. “I’ve taken the liberty of hiring a new lady in waiting for you.”

 

Hero recoils. “What happened to Verges?” she asks, trapped in his grasp.

 

He shrugs. "The whys and wherefores of your underlings are no concern of mine. I thought I might do you a favour in this. Are you not pleased?"

 

If not for the glint of cruelty in his eyes and the fact that her closest confidant is missing, she might be. He has the face that everyone falls for and the personality to take advantage of it.

 

"I would like to return to my chambers," she repeats. "It was rather warm outside, and my head is heavy."

 

Claudio nods ever so graciously, fingers loosening. "I look forward to our wedding, my dear," he calls as she walks away from him. "Do remember who it was that proposed it."

 

Hero keeps her head high as she walks, just as she was trained since she was a babe.

 

_One foot in front of another, shoulders up, hands down. Chin forward. Do not let the crown fall, no matter how heavily it weighs on you. Listen to the sharp impact of your shoes on the floor and count them. Keep them in time. Whatever you do, do not let your tears fall until you have reached the sanctity of your chambers. Do not think about the child's face or the sick kitten or the countless issues of your realm._

 

Leo had always been better at projecting the impartial, authoritative image. Leo would make the right decision with ease. Hero and Ursula used to follow him around for hours whenever there was a visit between Florin and Guilder. She misses it.

 

No. Dwelling on the past is never healthy. It is better to live in the now, to make decisions for the good of the future rather than the sake of the past. But, oh, how the past aches.

 

The woman inside her room is barely older than her and unfamiliar, and meets her with a graceful curtsy and a defiant eye.

 

"Milady," she greets, and Hero sighs.

 

"What is your name?" she asks.

 

"Beatrice, milady."

 

"Thank you for coming here," she says, because Claudio's faults are not those of her new lady. The fact that Verges-- her last friend, her final confidant-- has been replaced does not lessen this woman’s humanity. "I'll just be napping until dinner time; I apologise I won't be better company. I'll need no help with undressing."

 

The woman nods. "I'll acquaint myself with the castle, then." She leaves in a flurry of robes that cannot be all of human make.

 

Hero strips out of her cumbersome dress and removes her crown, unpinning the braids in her hair.  It would be simpler with help, of course, and the trembling of her hands only lengthens the time she takes to be ready. Even so, she cannot handle anymore eyes watching her, judging her. The extra effort taken in disrobing is worth the peace of solitude.

 

Finally able to breathe, she curls into her blankets and shudders. She can still feel the phantom pain of Claudio's fingers around her wrist. She blinks, willing away the tears that have been resting just under her vision all day.

 

 _What about Ursula,_ her people had murmured, and her heart cries with them. Oh, how her heart cries; how it aches and burns within her.

 

What about Ursula, trapped beneath the cool waters with a pirate's wound preventing her from ever rising? What about Ursula, lost on her way to what was meant to be the most joyous day of their lives? What about Ursula, gone forever? What about Ursula, who she would love for eternity?

 

What about Ursula, indeed?

 

Unable to stem the tears, Hero fishes a worn, ornate locket from under her slip and opens it. In it rests the most recent miniature painted of her love, given on the day of their betrothal. For a moment immortalised in oil paint and parchment, Princess Ursula of Guilder is regal and smiling and very much alive. It is their last happy memory.

 

The wound aches as freshly as the day she received the news, Verges' face puffy with tears and her chest so tight she could hardly breathe. She had been planning the wedding, she recalls dimly, tasting cakes, when her lady in waiting burst in with tears running down her cheeks and an opened missive in her hands.

 

Four words tore down her world, bracketed with apologies and condolences and the never ending enquiries after her health: “Princess Ursula is dead.”

 

All she remembers from that point onward is _confusionpainsorrowpainwhyIcan'tbreatheisthiswhatshefeltasshedied?_ She’d sobbed and choked and finally slept, and when she woke up the process began again. Then Claudio and his brood had arrived on a diplomatic mission and all went to hell.

 

Hero's mourning period is not even close to over, and already she is betrothed. She knows how she looks to her people; her almost-wife's body has barely rested under the sea for three months and she is to be married to her brother's murderer. The kinder ones call her skank; the more daring call her traitor. There are times she feels as if both are more than true.

 

What sort of princess, after all, sits aloof in her castle while her kingdom suffers under another’s rule? What sort of princess is so immersed in her own sorrow that she does not acknowledge her brother’s death until his body is cold in the ground? What sort of princess has no way to save her people but to offer her hand in marriage to their tormentor with her heart lost to the sea?

 

Here is the answer, in all its brutal honesty: one her people will submit to.

 

That frightens her most of all.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (completely unedited because time zones. please inform me of any mistakes i have made.)


End file.
